She lies alone, her form outlined under the light from the full, ripe moon.
Her golden crown lies cradled in her arms and it's apparent she has been weeping.
The fire has burned down low and the only sound is of her soft breath.
The air seems heavy as you stride prudently yet purposefully towards her.
And yet she sleeps on.
As you carefully place your articles of war aside, sliding off your leathers,
You see her eyes flutter open and soon your own rapture is being reflected
And your heart is full.
You wonder as you capture a fresh tear as it rolls down her silken cheek
How it is you've captured her heart and you thank the gods that it shall ever be so.